


Almost Perfect Effigy

by filthybonnet



Series: She Will Never Sing [4]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Weber RPF, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Automaton, Bodily Fluids, F/M, Sexual Content, dealing with the past, love never dies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: Erik improved his skills as a creator to make her. She was almost perfect and brought him so much solace and shame. But with so many things that are almost perfect they never satisfy. This is set in a "Love Never Dies" AU where Christine lives in the end.





	Almost Perfect Effigy

**Author's Note:**

> This phic was written as part of @timebird84's Challenge: Give us all the pain, the despair, the angst, kill us by using the prompt #Farewell to write a PotO related oneshot. I decided to make it a sort of sequel to my previous phic "The Final Touch."

She had been one of his greatest creations. She moved on command, walked on her own, always caressed his cheek and was willing to please. Such soft perfect, porcelain flesh and those chestnut curls real and perfumed with Tonka bean and vanilla. She was almost perfect. Almost.

What she could never possess she currently gave him, singing even in the thralls of ecstasy as her back arched off the bed. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, the hair on them tickling his derriere. When both were spent, Erik nuzzled his mask-less face into her neck, so only the good side was exposed. At this level he could see a few grey hairs mixed among the chestnut locks. They smelt of salt water from their evening walk on the beach now mingled with the sweat and pheromones of their recent activity.

“I hope we didn’t wake Gustave,” Christine gently twirled the gray wisps of Erik’s hair between her fingers.

“What do you mean _we_ , Angel? You did the singing.”

“I believe those throaty groans were yours,” a smile on her lips, Christine kissed his sweaty forehead.

The Phantom chuckled as he casually rested his palm atop one of her breasts. Here was soft warm flesh with faded growth marks from when they were full of milk. His thumb rubbed the dark pink nipple and it peaked instantly. Christine sighed softly.

“Erik please, you’ll make me wanton again.”

“Perhaps I enjoy you that way, Christine. And the night is young,” Erik turned his head and gently licked at the other nipple, it was not as dark but was just as wonderful to the touch.

Christine unceremoniously climbed upon her Angel, the sheets rolling down her back, exposing moles. Erik would often aimlessly trace them; play connect the dots with them. He saw the scar from where the bullet had entered the surgery that had been done to save her life. He loathed that she was now scarred like him, one he caused. Christine noticed his eyes lingering on the pink flesh; he needed a distraction. She picked up his hand and guided it between her thighs. He found her still warm and moist with her juices and his seed. She smiled at him, that smile she’d given him from the beginning; the one that made madder than he already was.

“Gustave doesn’t have nightmares anymore and my womb veil is still in. If you want to make me wanton again and take advantage of the night, I’m all yours Angel.” Christine leaned over and kissed him; a muffled moan pushed into his lips as his fingers at her womanhood moved. _Her_ womanhood was never so warm or alive no matter what he did.

*******

Erik woke to find Christine sound asleep on her side facing away from him. His eyes were used to the darkness and he found his drawers and slacks securing them on his slender frame before wrapping himself in his dressing robe. He tip-toed out their bedroom and past the closed door of Gustave’s before making his way to his workshop. Gas lights on, he started the incinerator.

She laid on the table. One of his greatest creations. Such a great advancement of his skills out of desperation. She was almost perfect. Almost. Sure, he could salvage parts, rework her and put her in one of his shows and only he would be the wiser. The thought made his skin crawl. He could make others, others whose purpose was pure; put those in the shows. He knew Gustave would love to watch and learn. Erik picked the automaton up and like an ill woman carried her gently towards the incinerator. He opened the door and pushed her in.  She was his effigy. The real perfection was finally not leaving him, she was in their bed sound asleep. He closed the incinerator door, turned off the lights and headed back to their bedroom. He wanted to make sure Christine was in his arms when she woke.


End file.
